Heroes of Might and Magic
by Wargrave
Summary: Tylar was intent on living his life out at home after his military career, but all that changed when the monsters under the control of the Dungeon Overlords began their march.


Heroes of Might and Magic

Prologue 

Night had fallen, and the creatures of the forest, deer, squirrels, and birds, had stilled to rest.

But they were not the only creatures in the forest that night.

They moved in a multitude of ways, some walking like men, others slithering, flying, or just floating over the vegetation. They did not seem to form any cohesive force, except that they all moved in the same direction, toward the same target.

They all headed toward the sleepy town of Menster.

Far behind the monstrous entities, a lone figure stood, and smiled to itself at what would soon become a slaughter.  
Chapter One 

Fear.

Tylar had forgotten how much it sickened him, made his stomach churn. He had smelled fear before, in the midst of battlefields, on the corpses of dead men and monsters.

But this was no battlefield.

This was merely a town, if it was even large enough to be called that. Menster was a small collection of hovels, untouched by the trials of wars and warlords, where Tylar had spent the beginning of his life, and where, he thought, he was going to meet his end.

But now Menster had come to the attention of an army. Tylar knew from the time of the Castle Legions who now destroyed his village and killed his friends and family.

The Dungeon Overlords had come, and they had come with an army.

Some walked like men, but there the resemblance ended. Among these were stooped, lizard-like figures without eyes. They stood barely over five feet, due to their bent backs and short legs. _Troglodytes_; Tylar recalled these to be the grunt soldiers of the Dungeons. Leading the troglodytes were massive, half-men, half-bull Minotaurs. The smallest of the Minotaurs were eight feet tall and weigh as much as two men. All carried weapons set on a scale that matched their size, which they used to cut down their opponents in battle. Standing far behind their allies stood the long range fighters of the Dungeon Lords. Standing was perhaps the wrong word, for one such group of soldiers had no legs, for Beholders were little more than floating eyes that used magic to coalesce light into intense beams that they used with deadly accuracy. Equally deadly were the Medusas, with the upper torsos of women, but with snakes for hair and nine-foot tails instead of legs. They carried bows from which they fired shot after deadly shot.

Tylar had fought the Overlords and their fiendish charges, and he knew the chance Menster had at survival.

Zero.

So he fled. He abandoned his home, his family, his life. As he ran through the open streets, he saw the corpses of the men and women he used to know. Perryl, a young man he had once trained to be a soldier. Delia, the baker's daughter, cut down while still protecting her younger brother. At the sight of that one girl, he remembered the reason he had returned to his old home.

Kathryn, the woman he loved.

She had stayed home that day, claiming illness. Tylar's home was on the other side of town, and he had very little time before the Dungeon soldiers cut him off completely from that side of town.

Turning without hesitation, he began to run in the direction of his home. Along the way, he stooped to grab a sword from the lifeless hand of a dead man, knowing he might need the blade for protection. Sliding the sword into his belt, he turned and raced in the direction of his home.

He was almost halfway there when the minions of the overlord caught up with him. A Minotaur wearing little more than a loincloth wielding an axe as heavy as Tylar stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bellowing its challenge, it swung the axe with practiced ease at Tylar's chest. His fighting instincts took over then, and he easily ducked the killing blow. Driven by the helpless desire to find his love, he stepped forward and drove his blade upward into the beast's stomach, gutting it. He tore the blade out sideways, tearing open the Minotaur's torso and spilling his innards. Spinning quickly about, he deflected the thrusting spear of the troglodyte that came at his back. Spinning the blade around, he sheared off the tip of the troglodyte's spear, then hacked his sword against the thing's throat. Leaving the thing to choke on its own black blood, Tylar continued on to his home.

As he neared his destination, Tylar heard screams and the grunts of the Minotaurs. The screams were not in fear, however, but in simple rage. He hid behind the corner of a house and peered across the street to see a Medusa and a Minotaur trussing up and gagging his wife. Trembling from head to toe, Tylar desperately tried to come up with a plan.

The Minotaur suddenly spun his wife in the direction of the Medusa, who sought to force Kathryn into peering into her deadly stare. A Medusa's stare had the ability to instantly turn the victim into stone. Knowing he had but a few short seconds to spare, Tylar threw caution into the wind and recklessly sprung into action.

Seizing a small knife off the ground, he threw the weapon with all the strength of his body at the Medusa. It buried itself to the hilt into the side of the monster's neck, toppling it without a sound. Turning, the Minotaur swung a massive broadsword over its head and charged Tylar. Before it had taken more than a few steps, Kathryn kicked it in the knees, making it stumble. Tylar took advantage of this, and brought his own sword in a mighty swing across the Minotaur's neck, severing the head completely. Blood shot from the wound like a geyser, spraying Tylar from head to toe. Taking his sword and knife from the carcasses, he cut his wife free of her bonds.

"Thank you," Kathryn said. She surveyed his gore-ridden body. "Looks like you could use a bath, though."

Tylar looked back with a blank stare at her attempt at humor. One look into his eyes told Kathryn what was running through her husband's head. Tylar had been born here, raised here, and he had thought he was going to die here. The only time he had called any other place home was his term of service with the Castle Legions. To see this place torn down before his eyes was the most terrible loss he had yet experienced.

Before she could say anything, however, Tylar spoke. "We need to get away from here. The town of Stonewall isn't far away. If we leave now, we should be able to get there and raise the alarm in a few days, ahead of this army."

"Good idea," said Kathryn. All her humor was gone because of the look in her husband's eye. "To the north, then."

They left their house behind and ran as fast as they dared down the street, only pausing to dodge into shelter at the glimpse of any Dungeon soldier. They reached the edge of the town without incident, but there their luck ran out. The Dungeon soldiers had taken the time to set up a thick screen of troops to ensure that no one would escape. They also seemed particularly centered in one location, as if they were guarding something. Tylar crept from their position to get a better look, and glimpsed what the enemy was guarding. A minotaur, somewhat of a runt for his species, was being pulled in a cart by four minotaurs wearing exquisite armor.

Tylar crept back to his wife, keeping low and out of sight. He stooped suddenly, then got back to his feet and continued on his way. When he reached her, he told her what he had seen.

"So why do you think this will help us?" Kathryn asked.

"We'll never get past them unnoticed. There are too may for that. We need a distraction; something that will be important enough to draw them away. I think that their leader makes a fine target, don't you?" Tylar replied, winking.

"How do you plan on doing that?" Kathryn still looked skeptical. "You already used your throwing knife."

Still grinning, Tylar pulled a bow out of his belt.

"This is what I bent over to grab. I even found an arrow to go with it. you've kept up your archery, haven't you?"

"Of course," Now Kathryn looked insulted. "I'm not the best shot in Menster for nothing."

The two of them crept back to the place where Tylar had first spotted the runt minotuar. He was there still, berating one of his bodyguards for breaking the wheel on the cart. When the larger minotaur's response didn't satisfy him, the runt narrowed his eyes and pointed one finger at the guard. Suddenly, the clouds in the sky turned an ominous black. The targeted beast looked up nervously, then down at his leader. He fell to his massive knees, begging. The runt looked down coldly and snapped his fingers. With a flash, a bolt of lightning crashed down from the sky and struck the unfortunate guard in the center of his chest, lifting the five hundred pound beast as if it were a feather and sending it crashing through the house right next to where Tylar and Kathryn hid.

"Wizard." Tylar whispered. He turned to Kathryn. "They'll follow someone that powerful like fanatics. If you kill him, they'll go into a frenzy and we'll never get out. Just wound him."

Nodding, Kathryn pursed her lips in concentration as she notched an arrow to her bow. She smoothly brought the tip up and fired in one shot. As soon as the arrow flew from the string, Tylar grabbed her and flung her to the ground and out of sight. The arrow continued straight and true and embedded itself into the shoulder of the minotaur wizard, just below the collar bone. The mage gave out a scream of agony and rage and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. The bodyguards spun to their master with fear in their eyes. All around, Dungeon soldiers looked to see what the commotion was about. They ran to their leader, abandoning their posts. Taking advantage of their opportunity, the only two humans left from Menster ran for their lives into the marginal safety of the forest.

Chapter Two 

Tylar and Kathryn ran from Menster as fast as they could, hoping to get as far from the town as possible. Slowing only to make sure that they would not run into any patrols from the Dungeons, they did not stop at night, but continued on with their flight, hoping to see the edges of the town of Stonewall before nightfall. However, before they caught a glimpse of the town, the skies darkened with rain clouds, ominous black swirls that promised a miserable night to walk through. So at length the two stopped after nearly a full day's running, choosing to take cover under a nearby tree. They pitched a measly camp, not even daring to make a fire in fear of drawing unwanted attention to them.

Both were wrapped in their own thoughts then, when they had time to finally think about their near-death experience. Tylar thought of al the friends he had lost that day, and Kathryn thought of what would happen to them next. When darkness fell, a storm had already begun to pelt them with rain, and the two decided to rest. Tylar volunteered for first watch.

"We don't want to get caught off guard," he said. "Besides, I'm too shaken to sleep for now. I'll wake you when it's your turn."

Too tired to argue otherwise, Kathryn laid her head down, huddled her clothes closer to her body, and fell asleep.

Tylar maintained his vigilant watch, peering into the darkness of the forest. His mind unconsciously wandered back to the town. He wondered if anyone had been left alive, or if not, if any of his friends and neighbors had escaped as he had. Knowing the mannerisms of the Overlords, the rulers of the Dungeon cities of Nighon, he knew that no one would be shown mercy. He tried to tell himself that he had done the right thing, getting out as soon as possible, raising the alarm in other towns instead of trying to save his own. But no matter how much he reasoned, the images of fallen friends and neighbors continued to haunt his mind. So caught up was he that he almost missed the soft noise coming from nearby. Rousing himself from his stupor, he woke Kathryn with a shake, and motioned for her to be silent. He pointed to the bushes where he had heard the noise, and motioned again, this time for him to go right and her to go left. They split up, each moving silently in the night. Unfortunately, Tylar did not look at his feet, and a dead twig broke under him with a sharp crack.

Instantly, they heard movement in the bushes, as their quarry tried to escape. Throwing caution into the minds, Tylar and Kathryn plunged into the foliage after it, hoping to catch it before it got away. The creature was quick, and seemed to have a good knowledge of the surrounding area around Menster, but Tylar would not be deterred; instead, once he was in range, he leaped into a flying tackle, bring the humanoid creature down under his weight. Still the creature thrashed, trying to dislodge him. Kathryn was there a moment later, an arrow notched in her bow, pointed at the creature's head.

"Be silent!" she hissed. "That is, if you value your life."

Suddenly, the creature stopped moving. It looked up at Kathryn with hopeful eyes.

Human eyes.

"Miss Kathryn?" said the boy. "Mister Tylar?"

"Packrat? Is that you?" asked Kathryn.

"Yes! It's me! Oh, thank the gods, I thought I was dead!" the boy cried.

"Quiet!" Tylar whispered in the boy's ear while rolling off of him. "We don't know what else is in this forest. We thought you were a Nighon scout."

"I'm sorry. I thought the same of you. That's why I ran. I thought you were trying to kill me." Packrat wiped at his face.

And through his hands, Tylar saw a slight shine on the boy's face.

"So that's what I heard. You were crying, weren't you son?" Tylar asked.

"No!" Packrat said. "I wouldn't cry! I'm tougher than that!"

Tylar and Kathryn new better than that. Kathryn knelt down next to the boy and hugged him.

"It's all right, young one. There is no shame in weeping, especially with what we've been through." Kathryn said.

Tylar put a hand on the boy's shoulder, in a sign of compassion. Finally, the boy let go and cried. He wept silently, held by the two adults, the only two friends he had from his past.

Five minutes later, the three of them separated, and Packrat sniffed and rubbed his eyes. Tylar wanted to ask the boy how he escaped, and if he had seen anyone else, but knew the boy needed some rest first. He and Kathryn led the boy back to their impromptu shelter, and let him sleep while the two of them watched over him. The boy was too tried to even protest, and he immediately fell asleep. The two adults looked at each other.

"I wonder if anyone else made it out alive." Kathryn said.

"We can only hope." Tylar tried hard to sound optimistic, but Kathryn looked at him.

"You're eyes tell it all, my love. You doubt your decision to leave." Kathryn said this sternly, but not in an attempt to blame. Tylar lowered his head.

"I could've found someone else. I could've saved more of them, but only thoughts were for you and I."

"And for which I am grateful beyond words." Kathryn consoled him. "And what would you have done if we found another? Three of us would have been seen. And without our little distraction, I doubt our young friend here would've escaped. You did the right thing, Tylar. Do not lose yourself to your mistakes and doubts." Kathryn came close to him, and wrapped her arms around him. Tylar gratefully returned the embrace, thankful beyond anything else in the world for his wife's company.

At long last, he broke the embrace. "Thank you, my love. I do not know what I would do without you," He kissed her. "Now get some sleep. I'll take watch, and then wake you when it's your turn. I think we can afford to let our young friend rest a bit."

Kathryn nodded, gave Tylar another kiss, then went over to Packrat's sleeping form and lay down near him for warmth and comfort. Tylar watched her lay down, grateful beyond words for his wife's companionship and love. Giving a silent thank you to whatever power over him, Tylar began his night time watch.

After his turn was up, Tylar walked over to the sleeping form of his wife. As he heard her gentle breathing, he was tempted to let her sleep through the night. He quickly dropped that particular idea, knowing what kind of grief she'd give him and not wanting that. He gently grabbed her shoulder, and shook her. She looked at him groggily.

"Your turn, love," he said in apologetic tones.

She nodded, and then rose. Tylar took the place she had vacated, trying to find a comfortable position for himself in the dirt. When at last he got an iota of comfort, he tried to calm his mind enough to allow sleep to take him. He could not, however, silence the noises and memories of the past. Visions swam before his weary eyes, disturbing his mind and denying him sleep. He saw screaming villagers dying under axe and spear and eldritch spells, a reminder of the fall of his home. He saw soldiers, fighting to the death for other's causes, as a reminder of the horror he faced as a warrior. Still tormented by these memories, he fell into a sleep haunted by the past. He did not know how much time had passed before he felt hands gripping his shoulders and a voice in his ears.

"Wake up, Mr. Tylar! Please wake up!"

Fearing an attack, Tylar scrambled for his sword, but again the voice spoke.

"It's me, Mr. Tylar! It's Packrat!"

Calming himself, Tylar looked at the boy. Packrat looked worried, but Tylar had the feeling his wasn't worried for his own safety.

"Why did you wake me?" Tylar asked.

"You were moaning in your sleep and tossing and turning. I thought something was wrong." Packrat still looked uncomfortable.

_Something **is** wrong, _Tylar thought. Out loud, he said, "I'm fine now, lad. Thank you." He looked at the sky, trying to judge the time. It was still very early in the morning. He looked again to Packrat.

"Try and get some more sleep, Packrat. We have a long way to go still." To emphasize his point, Tylar lied down. Packrat followed suit, and Tylar waited for the youth's breathing to become quiet and rhythmic before he rose and found Kathryn. He walked to her side, and simply stood there. His wife looked at him with concern.

"You should be asleep," she said matter-of-factly. "You need your rest, just as much as the rest of us."

"Can't sleep anyway," Tylar smiled. "You go and get some sleep, love. I'm more accustomed to this, anyway."

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a word, they heard a noise in the nearby brush. Tylar's sword cleared it sheath silently, and Kathryn already had an arrow notched in her bow. She nodded her head toward the bush while looking at Tylar.

Tylar nodded his affirmation, and then slithered stealthily through the underbrush. When he came upon the brush in question, he paused. He was torn between diving headlong into a fray or looking ahead to gauge the situation. He decided to give up the element of surprise in order to check out what was on the other side of the brush. His hope that it would be another of the villagers overruled his caution as he forced a way through the foliage. As he came out the other side, however, he was greeted not with the sight of familiar faces. They were not, in fact not even human faces. Tylar, in his haste, had walked straight into a patrol of minotaurs and troglodytes.

Chapter Three: 

Tylar was so startled by the sight of the Dungeon patrol that he momentarily lost his balance. He stumbled, then tripped over a root and lost his footing completely. With a groan of dismay, he toppled down the short hill directly towards the encampment. He rolled unceremoniously down the small incline, landing with a jarring thud directly between to troglodytes. Momentarily stunned, he tried to gain his feet. Thankfully, the troglodytes were as surprised as he, and did react in time. By the time they had risen and raised the alarm, Tylar was on his feet again, with his sword in hand. Shouting for Kathryn, he swung a mighty overhead chop that clove the first troglodyte's skull. He retracted the blade, and then spun on his heel, turning to face the next. The troglodyte had regained its composure by then, and stabbed for Tylar's face with a crude spear. Tylar ducked, stepped into range, and hacked his blade against the monster's ribcage. He saw flesh sundered and heard bones cracked, and the troglodyte fell away, holding trembling hands to its ruined torso.

Now that he had dealt with the immediate threat, Tylar had a few spare seconds to observe the rest of his opposition. There were at least a score more troglodytes, along with a small band of minotaurs. Knowing that he was no match for so many, Tylar desperately looked for some escape. He was surrounded on all sides by hills, and he knew that he would be caught and cut down by the long-legged minotaurs before he ever got up the slopes. He looked and looked, but no solution came. He ran out of time than, for the remaining troglodytes had returned, and Tylar found himself staring down a wall of spear points. He deflected some, cut off the tips of others, but made no headway, for the short troglodytes made up for their lack of stature with long weapons, and Tylar could do little to reach them.

His shouts for aid did not go unheeded, however, and suddenly his attackers began to fall under red feathered arrows, the trademark bows of Kathryn. Her shot were always deadly, with every arrow finding its target in eyeless heads, necks, or hearts. Though always deadly, there were too many foes for Kathryn or the still hard pressed Tylar to deal with. Desperation began to well up in Tylar's heart, especially when the mighty minotaurs began to advance on Kathryn's position, lifting huge shields to block her arrows.

Knowing they were beaten, he called to his wife, begging her to leave, to save herself. He knew she would never do it, but still he called, pleading to her. His calls were answered, but not by his wife. Suddenly, a large fireball flew from the brush across the glade from his position, and Tylar feared that the minotaur wizard was nearby. His fears were alleviated, however, when the fireball exploded amongst the minotaurs, obliterating the one it hit, and setting the rest ablaze. Those on fire gave great bellows and roars of pain, and fell from the fires within seconds. The troglodytes, hearing their masters' demise, turned, giving Tylar a chance to disengage and give himself some room. Not a second after he was clear, a meteor crashed through the canopy of trees, landing among the center of the troglodytes, crushing some and sending flying rocks among the others. The shockwave knocked the rest over, along with Tylar. The troglodytes were slow to rise, and the few remaining died under Tylar's sword. Looking at the crater, Tylar wondered at this miracle.

Kathryn came rushing out of the bushes, sliding as much as running down the hills, and crashed into Tylar, hugging him and kissing him while still holding her bow with one hand.

"I heard your call. I was so afraid. Afraid that I wouldn't get there in time," Kathryn sobbed into Tylar's shoulder.

Tylar held onto his wife, burying his face in her hair. "I'm all right, love. Thanks to you and whoever cast those spells. You did wonderfully."

After he mentioned their unknown savior, the couple looked to the bushes where the spells had originated. They approached cautiously, with weapons drawn, but held at heir sides. Suddenly, a gruff, snappish voice called from the brush.

"Stop! If ye be valuing your lives, ye'll stop where ye are!"

The two stopped in their tracks. Looking to each other, they nodded.

Tylar looked at the bushes and cried, "We wish to thank you for your aid, friend. If it had not been for you, we would be corpses by now. Show yourself, so we may thank you properly."

There was silence for a time. Then, suddenly, voices were heard arguing. It began quietly, then with increasing volume, up to the point that Tylar and Kathryn could hear the voices distinctly, though they could not understand the tongue in which they spoke. Finally, the voice they had called to them earlier spoke something. The arguing ceased, and there was the sound of movement from the brush. Tylar and Kathryn both waited to see what their savior looked like. What approached them, however, was not what they had expected.

A figure forced its way out of the underbrush. The figure was clothed in a rich blue traveler's cloak, along with a pair of tight fitting, expensive boots that crunched over the ground. Tylar recognized at once one of the wizards, spell casters of the northern empire of Bracada.

Though the figure was every inch a mage, what it lacked was inches themselves. The figure barely topped four feet, even with its large boots. Sprouting from the head was hair the color of fire; hair of the same hue also grew from its chin in a beard of impressive length.

The mage noticed that both of the humans were staring at it. "What're ye lookin' at? Ain't ye never seen a dwarf before?"

Chapter Four: 

An hour later, Tylar, Kathryn, and Packrat were sitting in the Bracada camp, eating a meal and warming themselves by a fire. The dwarf, named Bruenor, was telling them of how they had heard Tylar's fight with the Nighon patrol, and had decided to help.

"Ye were makin' quite the din, not to doubt," said Bruenor. "Ye're damn fortunate we were nearby to save yer skinny arse!"

"Indeed I am," said Tylar, taking the insult stoically. It was the dwarven way to embellish everything, and to constantly remind of when one was rescued along with their 'skinny arse'.

P.S. My story is still a work in progress, and I'm doing my best to work on it everday. Opinions are welcome.


End file.
